Keeping It Together
by Smackalicious
Summary: Gibbs and Ziva have a fall out while working a case and he refuses to talk to her. A frustrated Ziva seeks out both Ducky and McGee for advice. Eventual McGiva, but nothing graphic. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Keeping It Together  
Summary: From Cassy's prompt: "Gibbs and Ziva have a fall out while working a case and he refuses to talk to her. A frustrated Ziva seeks out either Ducky or Tim and asks for advice."  
Rated: PG-13  
Categories: Drama, McGee/Ziva, Angst  
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Drama, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Romance  
Author's Note: Written for Cassy for the Chinese Fanfic Exchange on NFA.

* * *

**Chapter One**

Ziva managed to maintain her composure, despite the tongue lashing she had just received. From Gibbs. Of course. Though it was never truly that difficult for her to remain unfazed – on the outside, at least. She had been trained to not let things bother her and while that left her open to criticisms of being heartless and cold, she took pride in her steadfast nature.

It had all begun earlier that day. She had gone with Gibbs to interrogate a suspect – a Marine had been found brutally beaten in Falls Creek and he had pointed a bandaged finger at a fellow Marine, one who had been known to express certain bigoted tendencies. Yes, their victim was Jewish, and he had been the victim of an anti-semitic hate crime.

Ziva had insisted on going along with Gibbs to interrogate the suspected Marine, while he was trying to prevent her from going. He had a feeling she wasn't going to exactly be fair to the guy – not that he really deserved fairness, if he was the bigot their vic claimed he was, but regardless of that, he still deserved equal treatment until they could determine whether or not he was their man.

Ziva entered the interrogation room first. Automatically, the suspect sneered. Ziva clenched her jaw and sat across from him.

"Gunnery Sargeant Keith McDurmand, yes?" she asked, ignoring the glare he was giving her.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied bitterly.

"Do not call me ma'am, please, Gunnery Sargeant," Ziva ordered him, fixing him with a steely glare. She paused, her mouth open slightly, then continued her line of interrogation. "Are you familiar with a Joseph Dresden, Sargeant McDurmand?"

McDurmand snorted. "Sure. He works in the mess hall. I see him every morning, noon and night. What about him?"

Ziva narrowed her eyes, trying to decide his motivations. "Are you aware that he was severely beaten in Falls Creek yesterday?"

A brief flash of something indecipherable shone in McDurmand's eyes. "No. I was working."

Ziva smirked. "Ahh, I see." She complemented her comment with a raise of her eyebrows.

McDurmand's sneer grew deeper. "You see what? That I have a job and I was doing it? That I wasn't out . . ." he threw his hands up in a reckless motion, "getting myself into trouble?"

Ziva raised her eyebrows at his choice of words, then narrowed them just as quickly, hissing, "You have just implicated yourself in this crime, Gunnery Sargeant. I would not be so quick to judge were I you." As she spoke, she leaned over the table, causing her necklace to fall from its hiding place beneath her shirt.

The dangling charm caught McDurmand's attention and he stood. "Oh, I get it now. You're with Dresden, aren't you? Some sort of, what, Jewish coalition?" He pressed his hands to the table, leaning in and forcing Ziva to back up. "I got news for you, lady – I ain't about to stand for this. Say what you want, I didn't beat that Jew bastard. Anything he got, he deserved."

Ziva's eyes steeled over and she did the unthinkable – she reached out and struck McDurmand in the face.

The door to the interrogation room opened in a flash and Gibbs entered, barking out, "David! Out!" as McDurmand swore loudly, holding his bleeding nose.

Ziva's demeanor changed upon hearing Gibbs' voice, blazing eyes turning to water, and she slowly walked from the room, wincing a bit as Gibbs slammed the door shut behind her.

"What the _hell_ was that, David? You figure he needed to know what Dresden went through or what?" He paced a few steps, then slammed his open hand against the wall. And then . . . he just walked away.

And that's what led to Ziva's current predicament, standing motionless in a silent hallway at NCIS, staring after the retreating figure of her boss, someone she respected with every bone in her body. She felt frozen. Simply frozen. Gibbs had yelled at her before, but he had never just walked away like that. She felt ashamed of herself and embarrassed for losing control, for being . . . _emotional_.

Ziva closed her eyes, holding back tears. It simply would not do to cry about the situation. Crying wouldn't help anything. It would probably only make things worse, she decided. Gibbs would take one look at her and deem her too weak to be on his team.

But even as those words passed through her head, she knew that was a lie. Gibbs didn't choose just anyone to be on his team – he only wanted the best. And while he hadn't exactly chosen her, he hadn't made her pack her bags, either. (Well, he _did_, but he wasn't forcing her to leave his team.)

She opened her eyes again, drawing in a deep breath before turning to go back to the squadroom. She had to collect herself before facing Tony and McGee. And Gibbs again, since that was probably where he had went.

As she rounded the corner, she saw the usual sights of her workplace – Tony lounging in his desk chair, shooting spitwads at an annoyed McGee, who was doing his best to ignore the senior field agent and continue with his paperwork, and across from them, Gibbs, clenching a styrofoam cup in his right hand, knuckles white.

Ziva moved swiftly to her desk, waiting to see if Gibbs would attempt any words. When he didn't, she opened her mouth to speak. "Gibbs, I . . ."

He stood, announcing, "I'm going to Abby's lab," effectively cutting her off, then turning and stalking to the elevator.

Tony and McGee turned their attention from their respective tasks to their exiting boss, then looked at Ziva. She had a look of wide-eyed surprise on her face, mixed with the slightest tinge of something else – worry? Sadness? Anger?

Without words, she stood just as abruptly as Gibbs had and followed his motions, taking herself to the elevator.

As the doors closed, Tony turned to McGee, letting out a low whistle. "Wow. Gibbs must be really pissed. I'm glad I'm not her right now."

McGee frowned. "Have some sympathy, Tony. She probably just needs someone to talk to."

Tony snorted. "Yeah, and that most definitely is not me. I'm sure that's what she's on her way to doing, anyway."

"But Gibbs is with Abby . . ."

Tony waved his confusion away. "Do you _really_ think Ziva would talk to Abby? I mean, Abby is like, Gibbs' keeper. And, besides the fact that they're both women and women supposedly talk to each other about emotions, this is Ziva we're talking about." He leaned back in his chair again. "If she's going to talk to anyone, it'll be Ducky."

McGee pondered that for a moment, nodding. "I can see that, sure, but why wouldn't she talk to one of us?"

Tony let out a laugh, clapping his hands slowly together. "Okay. Probie? Like I said. This is _Ziva_ we're talking about. She won't talk to me because she knows I'll just shamelessly rag on her about having emotions, and she won't talk to you because, well, you don't exactly have a history of being well-spoken."

"Hey!" McGee exclaimed, insulted. "If you weren't so juvenile, she might be willing to talk to us, rather than turning to Ducky."

Tony shrugged. "Have it your way, McGeek. All I know is," he laced his fingers together behind his head, "I'm content _not_ seeing the emotional side of our dear Mossad officer. She's scary enough already."

McGee rolled his eyes at his partner, ignoring his antics. As much as Ziva hassled him, he knew they were friends, and this was something he knew he could truly help her with. He sighed. If she didn't want to talk to him, he wasn't about to force her to. There was nothing he could do about that. He just hoped she'd get the advice she needed from Ducky . . .


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Ziva had entered the elevator, waited for the doors to close, then did as she had seen Gibbs do many times before and flipped the emergency switch off, darkening the car and bringing it to a halt. She balled her hands into fists, wanting nothing more than to simply strike out and punch something. But she held back. The last time she reacted that way, well, it was really not that long ago, and it had left her here – alone in a dim elevator car, questioning her role on the team.

She closed her eyes to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. Of all the people to screw up in front of, Gibbs was certainly the worst she could have picked. They had a trust unspoken ever since Ari and now that bond was in question, all because she allowed herself to be affected by their suspect.

Ziva let out a sigh and opened her eyes, resigning herself to the back of the car and sliding down until she was sitting on the floor. It was not easy for her to keep her cool when it came to her faith – the symbol she wore around her neck was not simply there for aesthetic reasons. When the rest of the world seemed to be falling down, disappearing into the clouds of suicide bombs erupting, shot down by her own skilled hand, Ziva knew she could trust her faith to pull her through, make it one more day. To have someone insult her for what she chose to believe was something she couldn't let go.

She shook the thoughts from her head. Dwelling on her mistake was going to get her nowhere closer to being okay with Gibbs. But she had no idea how to go about apologizing; Gibbs said apology was a sign of weakness, it was pretty much one of his rules. The only person Ziva could recall apologizing to him was the person she was on her way to see.

Ziva flipped the elevator back to a running position and soon arrived at the basement level, where she exited and made her way toward autopsy. If anyone could give her insight into Gibbs, it was Ducky.

The doors hissed open as she stepped in front of them and she entered hesitantly, looking for a sign of the elderly doctor. "Ducky?" she called.

"Ziva, is that you?" Ducky's voice came from another room – the bathroom, to be precise. "I will be with you in a moment, my dear. Just finishing up."

Ziva chuckled softly to herself. "Do not hurry yourself," she told him. She wandered through the room, running her hand along the smooth, cool steel of the autopsy tables, gazing at the rows upon rows of refrigerated drawers, holding dozens of dead bodies . . .

The flushing of a toilet distracted her from her thoughts and she turned to find Ducky exiting the bathroom, drying his hands.

"Hello, my dear," he greeted her, walking over to where she stood. "What brings you down here?"

"Ducky, I . . ." Ziva started, then paused, looking down at the floor. "I may have done something to jeopardize my spot on the team."

"Oh, dear," Ducky murmured, setting his hand on the edge of a table. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, then voiced his thought. "There is nothing you could have done that would cause you to lose your job at NCIS . . ."

"I struck a suspect in interrogation," Ziva interrupted, finally raising her head to look at him. Her mouth fluttered open and closed a few times as she searched for the words she needed to say. "I do not know what came over me . . ." Ducky nodded slowly, reading the truth in her eyes, what she wasn't saying. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, letting her know she could tell him. "Ducky, I lost it."

"Ziva, my dear, would you like a cup of tea?" he asked her, and she nodded. He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out his tea set, talking over his shoulder. "No one is completely immune to falling apart. Even the strongest people are allowed to have emotions, to get angry sometimes. I am quite sure your actions were justified." He filled the teapot with water and put it on to heat.

Ziva shook her head, her eyes focused on the floor again. "I usually do not let things people say affect me, but . . ." She trailed off, looking up at Ducky. "He insulted my faith, Ducky. That is not something I take lightly."

Ducky nodded, patting her shoulder reassuringly. The teapot squealed, signalling the water was heated, and Ducky walked over to retrieve the silver pot, pouring two steaming cups and adding tea bags. He quickly returned to Ziva's side, handing her one of the cups.

"Thank you, Ducky," Ziva said softly, blowing gently on the hot liquid.

"No, Ziva, thank _you_," Ducky responded, placing a hand on hers.

She cocked her head at him. "For what?" She gave him a mildly amused smile.

He smiled back at her. "For coming to speak with me. I know you are concerned about Gibbs . . ."

"But I haven't even mentioned Gibbs," Ziva responded, flustered that he saw through her trip to see him.

"Yet," he finished, still smiling. He patted her hand. "I know that you worry he will not see your position . . ."

"He is currently not speaking to me, so you are correct," Ziva said, setting her cup on one of the tables. "I simply wish to know what I can do to let him know it will not happen again, that I will . . . harness my emotions and try not to get so angry." She nodded quickly, as if assuring herself.

Ducky sighed, setting down his own cup. "Ziva, dear, you cannot restrain yourself from feeling emotions. It is not healthy to bottle up your feelings."

"But it is dangerous to be affected when I am working, Ducky," Ziva insisted, her eyes shining with pain. "Emotions are careless; they do not know how to handle the types of situations I am put in every day. If I allow myself to get angry or feel sad, I will miss something important, and could end up dead."

"Now, I never said you needed to allow everything to affect you, Ziva," Ducky corrected. "I am simply saying you should not hide how you really feel from us, your co-workers, your _friends_."

Ziva bit her lip and closed her eyes against his words, willing herself not to cry. He was right. But she had never . . . "Ducky, it is not easy for me. I am not . . . like all you. I was raised differently. I am not used to a team like this. I am used to being alone. And I am most certainly not used to sharing my emotions with my co-workers."

"Well, my dear," Ducky said, moving his hand to her shoulder again, "then I propose you _get_ used to it. It will only make your bond with the rest of the team stronger."

"But what about Gibbs?" Ziva asked, shaking her head. "He is so . . . distant. He never discusses _his_ feelings."

"Would you care to be building a boat in your basement in twenty years, Ziva?" Ducky asked, a grin on his face.

Ziva chuckled. "I think I see your point." She let out a sigh. "But I still do not know how I will regain his trust."

He took both her shoulders in his hands and held her out at arm's length. "I would not worry so much. You have already gained his trust, and it will take more than losing your temper for him to not have that faith." He smiled. "Go home, Ziva. Get some rest. It will take time."

She nodded, patting his shoulder in return as she stepped out of his grasp. "I will try." She walked to the doors, allowing them to slide open and stepped out.

She would do as he suggested; go home, try not to think about the situation, sleep on it. She just hoped that would be enough and that when she came back to work, she'd still have her job, and the faith of a man she'd come to trust with her life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Ziva stepped into her apartment, dropping her backpack to the floor beside her front door. She pushed off her shoes and shook off her jacket, allowing her apparel to make a small pile in front of her. She sighed, padding towards the kitchen. The day's events were still on her mind, despite Ducky's advice to clear the thoughts from her head for the night. She opened the pantry door, searching for ingredients to make herself a lavish dinner – anything to distract herself for at least part of the night.

So she cooked, pouring oil into a sizzling wok, chopping onions and tomatoes and green peppers, slicing thin strips of tender beef roast. It was an indulgence of hers, to make beef stir fry every so often, because of all the methodical dicing it took. It was no secret that she was skilled with a knife, so a meal like this really allowed her to play with that.

She started some rice cooking, then returned to the stir fry, pushing the vegetables back and forth in the wok, inhaling the wonderful scents. It wasn't much longer before the dinner was complete and she spooned herself a plate, bringing it to her table with a glass of wine. She ate in silence, almost on automatic, as she felt too stressed by the situation with Gibbs to relax entirely.

Ziva finished her meal and cleaned up, then looked at the clock. It was still a bit early for bed, but she had nothing better to do, and she figured she could wake earlier and have a longer run than usual if she went to sleep now. She dragged herself into her bedroom, stripping herself of her remaining clothes and leaving an undershirt and panties on to sleep in as she crawled into bed, forcing herself to think about something other than Gibbs.

As she closed her eyes, images of Gibbs walking away, filled with contempt, appeared behind her lids. She snapped her eyes open again. This wasn't going to work. She needed to solve this somehow before she would be able to sleep again.

She slid out of bed, putting on a pair of lounge pants and a fleece shirt. She grabbed her keys on her way to the door, sliding her feet into her shoes before opening the door and heading out, ready to get this off her chest.

Ziva arrived to her destination minutes later, being the speedy driver she was, and stepped out of her car, gazing up at the apartment building. She wasn't exactly sure what she was going to say to McGee, or why she was even there, really, aside from the fact that he lived the closest to her and she really just needed to vent to someone.

She took the stairs to his apartment, giving herself more time to concoct a reason for being there when he opened the door. As she reached his door, she gave herself one last chance to just leave again, but shook her head. He had always been so good to her, made her feel like part of the team, so the least she could do was let him in on this.

She knocked on the door, waited impatiently for him to answer and when he didn't, let out a frustrated breath and pulled out her lock picking kit, jiggling the knob a bit and releasing the clutch, then letting herself into the apartment.

As she closed the door, a light turned on and she heard McGee's frustrated sigh. "Ziva, I could have killed you!" he announced, lowering his gun and walking towards her.

She suddenly became nervous. "Uh, I am sorry, McGee. I should not have come unannounced." She turned back toward the door, until she felt McGee's hand on her shoulder. She turned to face him again.

"You obviously came here for a reason, Ziva," he said softly. "And while I don't appreciate you breaking into my home, you may as well tell me why you're here."

She let out a sigh, contemplating the situation. "I . . . Did Gibbs say anything to you or Tony about what happened?"

McGee narrowed his eyes. "No. What's going on, Ziva? Are you okay?"

She nodded, then shrugged, shaking her head. "I do not know anymore, McGee."

He gave her a concerned look and took her by the arm, leading her to his bedroom. She gave him a look of confusion and he shrugged. "I don't have a couch. I thought this might be . . ."

She smiled slightly. "It is okay, McGee. I was not expecting you to take advantage of me."

He blushed, eager to change the subject. "Um, you were saying?"

Ziva plopped down on the bed. "I did something incredibly stupid today and I now fear for my job." She looked up at him, watching his expression turn to empathy.

He squatted down in front of her. "Ziva, I know you don't really believe that. Gibbs would never . . . What did you do?"

She let out a sigh. "I struck a suspect in interrogation."

McGee let out a breath. "Oh."

Ziva continued. "It was stupid of me. I should not have allowed myself to be so affected by his words. And I do not need to be here, making you feel sorry for me." She rolled her eyes in annoyance with herself. "This is entirely my fault. If Gibbs fires me, I will pack up my things and return to Israel. There is no reason for me to defy his orders."

"You're not going anywhere, Ziva," McGee said defiantly, surprising her by taking her hands in his. She looked at him, her eyes wide. "Everyone makes mistakes, even Gibbs. We're not perfect. Look at all the stupid stuff I've done, yet I'm still on the team." Ziva lowered her eyes, smiling and shaking her head, watching as he rubbed his thumbs across her hands. When his thumbs stopped moving, she raised her eyes to see what was wrong.

"McGee?" she asked hesitantly.

"I'm just trying to get used to this," he said, releasing her hands and joining her on the bed. She turned to face him. "I'm not used to seeing you like this, Ziva, and while I can't say it's _nice_ to see you feeling this way, in a way . . ."

Ziva reached out and patted him on the leg. "I see what you are saying, McGee. I am trying to do as Ducky suggested and allow myself to show my emotions. But it will be difficult."

McGee nodded, reaching over and stroking her arm soothingly. "I'm glad you decided to come to me."

She smiled. "You have always been understanding and nothing but welcoming, McGee." She paused, her smile widening. "And you live the closest to me."

McGee rolled his eyes, but smiled, as Ziva's chuckle entered the room. As he focused his eyes on her again, he saw that she still looked downtrodden. He hesitated for a moment, then decided to just go for it. "Ziva, do you want a hug?"

She quickly looked up at him, surprised. "A hug?" He nodded. She looked away from him. "I-I am not much of a hugger . . ."

"I kinda thought that," he said. "I just thought I would . . ."

He was cut off by Ziva gently pressing herself against him, her arms around his shoulders. He recovered from his surprise to return the hug, closing his eyes and absentmindedly rubbing her back. He felt her relax further into his embrace and smiled to himself. It felt really good to have Ziva open up to him like this.

"It's gonna be okay, Ziva," he whispered into her ear, still rubbing her back.

Ziva let out a content sigh. "I do not know what I would do without you sometimes, McGee." She pulled away, watching the flicker of disappointment cross McGee's face from the lack of contact. She hesitated herself, then brought her hand up to his face, waiting for him to open his eyes. "Thank you," she whispered, then leaned in and gently kissed him on the lips.

The kiss was over as soon as it had begun, and McGee slowly opened his eyes, finding Ziva smiling at him. He felt the need to say something. "Um, you're welcome?"

A genuine laugh escaped Ziva's mouth. McGee blushed, but his embarrassment was soon replaced by disappointment again as Ziva stood. "I have taken up too much of your night, McGee. I should let you get some sleep." She began walking to the door, as McGee tried to process what was happening.

When he made a decision as to what he wanted to do, he stood and jogged after her. "Ziva, wait!" She turned to face him, her expression curious. "You don't . . . Don't feel like you've wasted my time, Ziva. You don't have to leave."

Ziva smiled. "Do you want me to spend the night with you?"

McGee's eyes widened at her word choice. "I, uh, well, not in _that_ way, Ziva. But if feel like you need someone . . . I'll sleep on the floor. You can have the bed."

"That is very sweet of you, McGee, but . . ." Ziva started, and McGee closed his eyes, knowing just what she would say next.

"Alright, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then," he interrupted, just wanting to get it over with. Ziva didn't speak right away, so he looked over to her.

"Do you not plan on looking at me until tomorrow, McGee?" she asked, smiling.

He gave her a look of confusion. "I thought you were leaving . . ."

She walked past him, back to the bedroom. "You should learn to not interrupt." He followed her and she turned around, causing him to reel back so as not to run into her. "And not to assume you know what I am thinking, either, McGee."

"Uh, I-I'm sorry, Ziva, I guess I just . . ." McGee stuttered, thrown offguard by her blunt attitude.

"I trust you are a gentleman, McGee," Ziva interrupted his blathering, fixing him with a look.

"Of course, Ziva," he breathed, regaining his pride.

She let out a breath, showing her hesitance. "You do not need to sleep on the floor."

"Oh, Ziva . . ." McGee started, assuming she felt sorry for him.

"We are adults, yes?" she continued. "Besides, I don't know about you, but I am not in the mood for sex, so we need not worry about that." She watched as McGee's face reddened, then continued, her next statement surprising McGee further. "I just need someone to hold me."

The blush dissipated from McGee's face upon hearing her words and he felt the overwhelming urge to hug her and never let go. He nodded, smiling. "I can do that." He walked toward her, causing her to turn as he approached, his arm slinking around her shoulder, and he led her back to the bedroom.

Ziva began unzipping her fleece, until McGee's voice halted her movements. "Uh, do you need something to sleep in?"

She paused. She had just planned on sleeping in her undershirt and panties, like she would have had she been at home, but she decided she wanted to play things a bit differently. "Yes, I think I do."

He smiled. "I'm sure any t-shirts I own would easily double as a nightshirt for you. They're in the top drawer." Ziva smiled and opened the drawer, browsing through the piles of neatly folded shirts. McGee noticed her actions and grinned. "We're just sleeping, Ziva. I don't care what you're wearing."

Ziva grabbed a shirt and held it to her chest, turning to face him. "Maybe I just wanted to snoot around."

McGee smiled at her mistake. "Snoop, Ziva. Come on, get changed."

She raised an eyebrow at him and began unzipping her shirt again, causing McGee to blush and face the other direction. "Ah, a true gentleman, just as I expected," Ziva murmured, stripping herself of her own clothes and putting on his shirt, closing her eyes and revelling in his smell on the shirt before announcing, "I am finished." She opened her eyes to find McGee gazing at her. She lowered her eyes. It was nice to feel wanted, and it had gotten her mind off everything with Gibbs. Her expression fell again as the thought crossed her mind.

"Hey, everything's gonna be fine," McGee soothed, seeing her expression change. "Tomorrow will come and Gibbs will realize how bad you feel about what you did. Don't worry."

She nodded, kneeling on the bed. "I will try not to." A yawn escaped her mouth and she quickly stifled it, excusing herself. "I must be more tired than I thought."

McGee smiled. "Let's go to sleep."

She returned the smile and crawled under the covers McGee held up for her, then waited for McGee to settle in behind her. She felt the other half of the bed jostle, signalling that he was in, but then the moving stopped. She rolled over, seeing that McGee was laying on his back, not making any attempt to scoot closer to her. "I do not bite, McGee," she assured him, then paused, grinning. "Hard."

He turned his head to face her. "I didn't want to invade your space . . ."

She silenced him by placing a finger on his lips. "What part of 'hold me' did you not understand, McGee?"

He nodded. "I get it."

She smiled, flipping over. "I fully expect . . ." she started, and gasped as almost automatically, McGee's arm snaked over her waist, pulling her into him.

"What were you saying?" he whispered into her ear, his warm breath travelling across her face.

"Nothing," she responded breathily.

"That's what I thought," McGee responded, tightening his hold on her waist. "Good night, Ziva."

She snuggled deeper into his embrace. "Good night, McGee."

* * *

_A/N: Ha, just realized there are only 5 chapters of this. :p_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Ziva woke, blinking the sleep from her eyes, and rolled over. Or, tried to roll over. Someone was hindering her movements. She began to panic until she remembered where she was – she had spent the night at McGee's apartment.

She turned her head to look at him and smiled. He was still asleep, mouth hanging open. She wrenched herself out of his grasp enough to turn so she was facing him and laid her head on the pillow again, simply watching him sleep. He was so good to her. She hated to think of Gibbs kicking her off the team. She knew she wouldn't find another group like the one she'd found at NCIS.

Ziva sighed and made a conscious mental decision to herself – she would do whatever it took to let Gibbs know she screwed up, but she wanted nothing more than to stay on the team. NCIS had become her life, and the team had become her family. She couldn't just lose them, as sentimental as that sounded. Her father would say her time in America had made her soft; he _did_ say that about her. But then again, he never seemed to understand the concept of family much, anyway.

The thought brought a chill down her spine and she inched closer to McGee, snuggling into him. No, she wasn't about to lose the team.

McGee stirred as a result of her movements and she hesitantly backed away, giving him some room. He let out a yawn and turned his head to face her. "Morning, Ziva." He blinked a few times, then noticed the distant look on her face and grew concerned. "You okay?"

She turned her head to face him. "What would you do to keep your place on the team?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I'm not sure what you mean."

She raised her head up on her hand. "How important is NCIS to you?"

He snorted. "NCIS is everything to me," he said softly. "You should know that." She didn't say anything, so he continued. "Ziva, you don't seriously think Gibbs would fire you . . ."

"What if I do?" she asked angrily. "I do not know what he is thinking! He probably finds me a liability to the team, someone who is angry and reckless, and would rather not have me around to screw up the integrity of NCIS."

"Ziva, would you listen to yourself?" McGee ordered, firmly yet softly. "You're blowing this all out of proportion. This is _Gibbs_. He's one of the angriest people I've met. And he's not going to give you up." He paused, steeling his gaze. "And even if he would, I won't let him."

Ziva's eyes softened. "McGee . . . You can't . . . I wouldn't let you risk your job . . ."

"Tony would do the same thing," he interrupted her. "And Abby. And I'm sure the Director wouldn't be too happy with Gibbs firing you, seeing as how she was the one who brought you to NCIS in the first place." He smiled. "You don't have anything to worry about, Ziva. We won't let you leave without a fight."

She returned the smile. "That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, McGee. I would hate to have to leave such a wonderful group of people."

"And we would hate it if you left us," McGee said. He reached over and brushed a strand of her hair from her face. "We better get to work before Gibbs really _does_ fire us."

Ziva let out a chuckle. "I'm sure Tony would just love our reason for being late."

McGee's hand paused on the covers. "And just what would you tell him?"

She grinned deviously. "Nothing that was not true, McGee. I spent the night here and then we lost track of time this morning."

McGee groaned, sitting up and sliding from the bed. He turned around once he was standing. "I really hope you're joking."

Ziva pouted. "You do not like the idea of Tony thinking we slept together?" She hid her smile behind the sheet.

McGee closed his eyes against the image. "I think it's better if we just go to work and stop talking about this."

Ziva's smile widened and she kneeled up on the bed, allowing the cover to fall down around her knees. "Am I making you feel uncomfortable, McGee?"

He tried to keep his eyes off her. The last thing he needed was a raging erection to start the morning. "Truthfully, Ziva, yes." She continued to smile wickedly, inching slowly towards him. He turned away, leaving her pouting again. "But only because you keep trying to change the subject and pretend you just came here for sex."

Her expression fell and was replaced by a blank look. "Ah, I see. I am feeling vulnerable so I have to do something to prove myself, like come here and seduce you."

"Ziva, no, that's not what I meant," McGee quickly said, spinning to face her. He sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I don't want you to just hide everything, cover everything up."

Ziva let out a bitter laugh. "Why not? Gibbs does, _Tony_ does, you probably even do." She fixed him with a look. "So why should I suddenly change how I live my life because you want me to?"

"Because we care about you, Ziva!" McGee cried out, wanting to get his point across. He lowered his voice and continued. "Can't you see that? We can't help you if you won't let us in." His eyes were desperate.

Ziva was silent for a moment, trying to take it all in. When she spoke, it was slow and deliberate. "I will tell you the same thing I told Ducky. I am not used to this. I am not used to opening up to people, having people care enough to want to know my emotions." She looked at him. "I can try. I cannot guarantee anything, but I can try."

"That's all I'm asking, Ziva," McGee replied, smiling.

Ziva returned the smile, then paused. "You are not going to ask me to hug you now, are you?"

He chuckled. "No. I'm not Abby. But," he blushed slightly, "I'd never pass up a hug from you, Ziva."

Ziva bit back her own smile, lowering her head. "That is very sweet, McGee."

"Yeah, yeah, um," he coughed a bit, "we should probably get ready for work, huh?"

"Yes, I will get dressed and see you there," she agreed. She picked her clothes from the floor and retreated to the bathroom to change, as McGee sat down on his bed, shaking his head.

"Never saw any of _this_ coming after than conversation with Tony, did ya, Tim?" he said to himself and smiled. "Crazy." He set out his clothes for the day and waited for Ziva to come back so he could go take a shower.

After a few minutes, he heard the lock unlatch from the bathroom door and stood to bid Ziva farewell. She walked into the room looking more perky than before and McGee wondered what had changed in that short time she was in the bathroom.

"Well, I guess I'll see you at work," he said awkwardly, for lack of a better thing to say.

"Yes, McGee," Ziva nodded her agreement. "I would like to thank you again for . . . being there. I needed someone and you did not disappoint."

He gave her a warm smile. "Anytime, Ziva."

She began to walk to the door, then turned at the last moment. "Tonight, after Gibbs assures me my job at NCIS is safe, you will be available?"

He gave her a confused look. "Uh, sure . . ."

"Good! I have plans for the two of us." She gave him a sneaky grin.

"Um, okay. That kind of worries me, but . . ."

He was cut off by Ziva's laugh. "Do not worry, McGee. I may not be like traditional women, but I know how to show a man a good time." She winked and headed out the door before McGee could respond.

McGee shook his head free of the conversation and turned back to his bedroom. He could ponder Ziva's plans once he was at work. Or, well, on his lunchbreak, sometime when Gibbs didn't have them working their asses off. Right now, he needed to shower and get to work on time, before Gibbs put out a BOLO on him.

Meanwhile, Ziva sped back to her own apartment, plotting out her evening in her head. She figured if she made plans to celebrate, the events of the day would go smoothly and she would still have her job at NCIS. She nodded to herself. Yes, that's how it would work out. And if not, well, she still had plans with McGee. It could be a last evening together before she went back to Israel.

She slammed her open hand on her steering wheel. She couldn't think that way. She had to go into work today with an open mind and hope that Gibbs was doing the same. Her future depended on it.


	5. Chapter 5

Ziva managed to maintain her composure, despite the tongue lashing she had just received

Ziva managed to maintain her composure, despite the tongue lashing she had just received. From Gibbs. Of course. Though it was never truly that difficult for her to remain unfazed – on the outside, at least. She had been trained to not let things bother her and while that left her open to criticisms of being heartless and cold, she took pride in her steadfast nature.

It had all begun earlier that day. She had gone with Gibbs to interrogate a suspect – a Marine had been found brutally beaten in Falls Creek and he had pointed a bandaged finger at a fellow Marine, one who had been known to express certain bigoted tendencies. Yes, their victim was Jewish, and he had been the victim of an anti-semitic hate crime.

Ziva had insisted on going along with Gibbs to interrogate the suspected Marine, while he was trying to prevent her from going. He had a feeling she wasn't going to exactly be fair to the guy – not that he really deserved fairness, if he was the bigot their vic claimed he was, but regardless of that, he still deserved equal treatment until they could determine whether or not he was their man.

Ziva entered the interrogation room first. Automatically, the suspect sneered. Ziva clenched her jaw and sat across from him.

"Gunnery Sargeant Keith McDurmand, yes?" she asked, ignoring the glare he was giving her.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied bitterly.

"Do not call me ma'am, please, Gunnery Sargeant," Ziva ordered him, fixing him with a steely glare. She paused, her mouth open slightly, then continued her line of interrogation. "Are you familiar with a Joseph Dresden, Sargeant McDurmand?"

McDurmand snorted. "Sure. He works in the mess hall. I see him every morning, noon and night. What about him?"

Ziva narrowed her eyes, trying to decide his motivations. "Are you aware that he was severely beaten in Falls Creek yesterday?"

A brief flash of something indecipherable shone in McDurmand's eyes. "No. I was working."

Ziva smirked. "Ahh, I see." She complemented her comment with a raise of her eyebrows.

McDurmand's sneer grew deeper. "You see what? That I have a job and I was doing it? That I wasn't out . . ." he threw his hands up in a reckless motion, "getting myself into trouble?"

Ziva raised her eyebrows at his choice of words, then narrowed them just as quickly, hissing, "You have just implicated yourself in this crime, Gunnery Sargeant. I would not be so quick to judge were I you." As she spoke, she leaned over the table, causing her necklace to fall from its hiding place beneath her shirt.

The dangling charm caught McDurmand's attention and he stood. "Oh, I get it now. You're with Dresden, aren't you? Some sort of, what, Jewish coalition?" He pressed his hands to the table, leaning in and forcing Ziva to back up. "I got news for you, lady – I ain't about to stand for this. Say what you want, I didn't beat that Jew bastard. Anything he got, he deserved."

Ziva's eyes steeled over and she did the unthinkable – she reached out and struck McDurmand in the face.

The door to the interrogation room opened in a flash and Gibbs entered, barking out, "David! Out!" as McDurmand swore loudly, holding his bleeding nose.

Ziva's demeanor changed upon hearing Gibbs' voice, blazing eyes turning to water, and she slowly walked from the room, wincing a bit as Gibbs slammed the door shut behind her.

"What the _hell_ was that, David? You figure he needed to know what Dresden went through or what?" He paced a few steps, then slammed his open hand against the wall. And then . . . he just walked away.

And that's what led to Ziva's current predicament, standing motionless in a silent hallway at NCIS, staring after the retreating figure of her boss, someone she respected with every bone in her body. She felt frozen. Simply frozen. Gibbs had yelled at her before, but he had never just walked away like that. She felt ashamed of herself and embarrassed for losing control, for being . . . _emotional_.

Ziva closed her eyes, holding back tears. It simply would not do to cry about the situation. Crying wouldn't help anything. It would probably only make things worse, she decided. Gibbs would take one look at her and deem her too weak to be on his team.

But even as those words passed through her head, she knew that was a lie. Gibbs didn't choose just anyone to be on his team – he only wanted the best. And while he hadn't exactly chosen her, he hadn't made her pack her bags, either. (Well, he _did_, but he wasn't forcing her to leave his team.)

She opened her eyes again, drawing in a deep breath before turning to go back to the squadroom. She had to collect herself before facing Tony and McGee. And Gibbs again, since that was probably where he had went.

As she rounded the corner, she saw the usual sights of her workplace – Tony lounging in his desk chair, shooting spitwads at an annoyed McGee, who was doing his best to ignore the senior field agent and continue with his paperwork, and across from them, Gibbs, clenching a styrofoam cup in his right hand, knuckles white.

Ziva moved swiftly to her desk, waiting to see if Gibbs would attempt any words. When he didn't, she opened her mouth to speak. "Gibbs, I . . ."

He stood, announcing, "I'm going to Abby's lab," effectively cutting her off, then turning and stalking to the elevator.

Tony and McGee turned their attention from their respective tasks to their exiting boss, then looked at Ziva. She had a look of wide-eyed surprise on her face, mixed with the slightest tinge of something else – worry? Sadness? Anger?

Without words, she stood just as abruptly as Gibbs had and followed his motions, taking herself to the elevator.

As the doors closed, Tony turned to McGee, letting out a low whistle. "Wow. Gibbs must be really pissed. I'm glad I'm not her right now."

McGee frowned. "Have some sympathy, Tony. She probably just needs someone to talk to."

Tony snorted. "Yeah, and that most definitely is not me. I'm sure that's what she's on her way to doing, anyway."

"But Gibbs is with Abby . . ."

Tony waved his confusion away. "Do you _really_ think Ziva would talk to Abby? I mean, Abby is like, Gibbs' keeper. And, besides the fact that they're both women and women supposedly talk to each other about emotions, this is Ziva we're talking about." He leaned back in his chair again. "If she's going to talk to anyone, it'll be Ducky."

McGee pondered that for a moment, nodding. "I can see that, sure, but why wouldn't she talk to one of us?"

Tony let out a laugh, clapping his hands slowly together. "Okay. Probie? Like I said. This is _Ziva_ we're talking about. She won't talk to me because she knows I'll just shamelessly rag on her about having emotions, and she won't talk to you because, well, you don't exactly have a history of being well-spoken."

"Hey!" McGee exclaimed, insulted. "If you weren't so juvenile, she might be willing to talk to us, rather than turning to Ducky."

Tony shrugged. "Have it your way, McGeek. All I know is," he laced his fingers together behind his head, "I'm content _not_ seeing the emotional side of our dear Mossad officer. She's scary enough already."

McGee rolled his eyes at his partner, ignoring his antics. As much as Ziva hassled him, he knew they were friends, and this was something he knew he could truly help her with. He sighed. If she didn't want to talk to him, he wasn't about to force her to. There was nothing he could do about that. He just hoped she'd get the advice she needed from Ducky . . .

Ziva had entered the elevator, waited for the doors to close, then did as she had seen Gibbs do many times before and flipped the emergency switch off, darkening the car and bringing it to a halt. She balled her hands into fists, wanting nothing more than to simply strike out and punch something. But she held back. The last time she reacted that way, well, it was really not that long ago, and it had left her here – alone in a dim elevator car, questioning her role on the team.

She closed her eyes to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. Of all the people to screw up in front of, Gibbs was certainly the worst she could have picked. They had a trust unspoken ever since Ari and now that bond was in question, all because she allowed herself to be affected by their suspect.

Ziva let out a sigh and opened her eyes, resigning herself to the back of the car and sliding down until she was sitting on the floor. It was not easy for her to keep her cool when it came to her faith – the symbol she wore around her neck was not simply there for aesthetic reasons. When the rest of the world seemed to be falling down, disappearing into the clouds of suicide bombs erupting, shot down by her own skilled hand, Ziva knew she could trust her faith to pull her through, make it one more day. To have someone insult her for what she chose to believe was something she couldn't let go.

She shook the thoughts from her head. Dwelling on her mistake was going to get her nowhere closer to being okay with Gibbs. But she had no idea how to go about apologizing; Gibbs said apology was a sign of weakness, it was pretty much one of his rules. The only person Ziva could recall apologizing to him was the person she was on her way to see.

Ziva flipped the elevator back to a running position and soon arrived at the basement level, where she exited and made her way toward autopsy. If anyone could give her insight into Gibbs, it was Ducky.

The doors hissed open as she stepped in front of them and she entered hesitantly, looking for a sign of the elderly doctor. "Ducky?" she called.

"Ziva, is that you?" Ducky's voice came from another room – the bathroom, to be precise. "I will be with you in a moment, my dear. Just finishing up."

Ziva chuckled softly to herself. "Do not hurry yourself," she told him. She wandered through the room, running her hand along the smooth, cool steel of the autopsy tables, gazing at the rows upon rows of refrigerated drawers, holding dozens of dead bodies . . .

The flushing of a toilet distracted her from her thoughts and she turned to find Ducky exiting the bathroom, drying his hands.

"Hello, my dear," he greeted her, walking over to where she stood. "What brings you down here?"

"Ducky, I . . ." Ziva started, then paused, looking down at the floor. "I may have done something to jeopardize my spot on the team."

"Oh, dear," Ducky murmured, setting his hand on the edge of a table. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, then voiced his thought. "There is nothing you could have done that would cause you to lose your job at NCIS . . ."

"I struck a suspect in interrogation," Ziva interrupted, finally raising her head to look at him. Her mouth fluttered open and closed a few times as she searched for the words she needed to say. "I do not know what came over me . . ." Ducky nodded slowly, reading the truth in her eyes, what she wasn't saying. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, letting her know she could tell him. "Ducky, I lost it."

"Ziva, my dear, would you like a cup of tea?" he asked her, and she nodded. He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out his tea set, talking over his shoulder. "No one is completely immune to falling apart. Even the strongest people are allowed to have emotions, to get angry sometimes. I am quite sure your actions were justified." He filled the teapot with water and put it on to heat.

Ziva shook her head, her eyes focused on the floor again. "I usually do not let things people say affect me, but . . ." She trailed off, looking up at Ducky. "He insulted my faith, Ducky. That is not something I take lightly."

Ducky nodded, patting her shoulder reassuringly. The teapot squealed, signalling the water was heated, and Ducky walked over to retrieve the silver pot, pouring two steaming cups and adding tea bags. He quickly returned to Ziva's side, handing her one of the cups.

"Thank you, Ducky," Ziva said softly, blowing gently on the hot liquid.

"No, Ziva, thank _you_," Ducky responded, placing a hand on hers.

She cocked her head at him. "For what?" She gave him a mildly amused smile.

He smiled back at her. "For coming to speak with me. I know you are concerned about Gibbs . . ."

"But I haven't even mentioned Gibbs," Ziva responded, flustered that he saw through her trip to see him.

"Yet," he finished, still smiling. He patted her hand. "I know that you worry he will not see your position . . ."

"He is currently not speaking to me, so you are correct," Ziva said, setting her cup on one of the tables. "I simply wish to know what I can do to let him know it will not happen again, that I will . . . harness my emotions and try not to get so angry." She nodded quickly, as if assuring herself.

Ducky sighed, setting down his own cup. "Ziva, dear, you cannot restrain yourself from feeling emotions. It is not healthy to bottle up your feelings."

"But it is dangerous to be affected when I am working, Ducky," Ziva insisted, her eyes shining with pain. "Emotions are careless; they do not know how to handle the types of situations I am put in every day. If I allow myself to get angry or feel sad, I will miss something important, and could end up dead."

"Now, I never said you needed to allow everything to affect you, Ziva," Ducky corrected. "I am simply saying you should not hide how you really feel from us, your co-workers, your _friends_."

Ziva bit her lip and closed her eyes against his words, willing herself not to cry. He was right. But she had never . . . "Ducky, it is not easy for me. I am not . . . like all you. I was raised differently. I am not used to a team like this. I am used to being alone. And I am most certainly not used to sharing my emotions with my co-workers."

"Well, my dear," Ducky said, moving his hand to her shoulder again, "then I propose you _get_ used to it. It will only make your bond with the rest of the team stronger."

"But what about Gibbs?" Ziva asked, shaking her head. "He is so . . . distant. He never discusses _his_ feelings."

"Would you care to be building a boat in your basement in twenty years, Ziva?" Ducky asked, a grin on his face.

Ziva chuckled. "I think I see your point." She let out a sigh. "But I still do not know how I will regain his trust."

He took both her shoulders in his hands and held her out at arm's length. "I would not worry so much. You have already gained his trust, and it will take more than losing your temper for him to not have that faith." He smiled. "Go home, Ziva. Get some rest. It will take time."

She nodded, patting his shoulder in return as she stepped out of his grasp. "I will try." She walked to the doors, allowing them to slide open and stepped out.

She would do as he suggested; go home, try not to think about the situation, sleep on it. She just hoped that would be enough and that when she came back to work, she'd still have her job, and the faith of a man she'd come to trust with her life.

…

Ziva stepped into her apartment, dropping her backpack to the floor beside her front door. She pushed off her shoes and shook off her jacket, allowing her apparel to make a small pile in front of her. She sighed, padding towards the kitchen. The day's events were still on her mind, despite Ducky's advice to clear the thoughts from her head for the night. She opened the pantry door, searching for ingredients to make herself a lavish dinner – anything to distract herself for at least part of the night.

So she cooked, pouring oil into a sizzling wok, chopping onions and tomatoes and green peppers, slicing thin strips of tender beef roast. It was an indulgence of hers, to make beef stir fry every so often, because of all the methodical dicing it took. It was no secret that she was skilled with a knife, so a meal like this really allowed her to play with that.

She started some rice cooking, then returned to the stir fry, pushing the vegetables back and forth in the wok, inhaling the wonderful scents. It wasn't much longer before the dinner was complete and she spooned herself a plate, bringing it to her table with a glass of wine. She ate in silence, almost on automatic, as she felt too stressed by the situation with Gibbs to relax entirely.

Ziva finished her meal and cleaned up, then looked at the clock. It was still a bit early for bed, but she had nothing better to do, and she figured she could wake earlier and have a longer run than usual if she went to sleep now. She dragged herself into her bedroom, stripping herself of her remaining clothes and leaving an undershirt and panties on to sleep in as she crawled into bed, forcing herself to think about something other than Gibbs.

As she closed her eyes, images of Gibbs walking away, filled with contempt, appeared behind her lids. She snapped her eyes open again. This wasn't going to work. She needed to solve this somehow before she would be able to sleep again.

She slid out of bed, putting on a pair of lounge pants and a fleece shirt. She grabbed her keys on her way to the door, sliding her feet into her shoes before opening the door and heading out, ready to get this off her chest.

Ziva arrived to her destination minutes later, being the speedy driver she was, and stepped out of her car, gazing up at the apartment building. She wasn't exactly sure what she was going to say to McGee, or why she was even there, really, aside from the fact that he lived the closest to her and she really just needed to vent to someone.

She took the stairs to his apartment, giving herself more time to concoct a reason for being there when he opened the door. As she reached his door, she gave herself one last chance to just leave again, but shook her head. He had always been so good to her, made her feel like part of the team, so the least she could do was let him in on this.

She knocked on the door, waited impatiently for him to answer and when he didn't, let out a frustrated breath and pulled out her lock picking kit, jiggling the knob a bit and releasing the clutch, then letting herself into the apartment.

As she closed the door, a light turned on and she heard McGee's frustrated sigh. "Ziva, I could have killed you!" he announced, lowering his gun and walking towards her.

She suddenly became nervous. "Uh, I am sorry, McGee. I should not have come unannounced." She turned back toward the door, until she felt McGee's hand on her shoulder. She turned to face him again.

"You obviously came here for a reason, Ziva," he said softly. "And while I don't appreciate you breaking into my home, you may as well tell me why you're here."

She let out a sigh, contemplating the situation. "I . . . Did Gibbs say anything to you or Tony about what happened?"

McGee narrowed his eyes. "No. What's going on, Ziva? Are you okay?"

She nodded, then shrugged, shaking her head. "I do not know anymore, McGee."

He gave her a concerned look and took her by the arm, leading her to his bedroom. She gave him a look of confusion and he shrugged. "I don't have a couch. I thought this might be . . ."

She smiled slightly. "It is okay, McGee. I was not expecting you to take advantage of me."

He blushed, eager to change the subject. "Um, you were saying?"

Ziva plopped down on the bed. "I did something incredibly stupid today and I now fear for my job." She looked up at him, watching his expression turn to empathy.

He squatted down in front of her. "Ziva, I know you don't really believe that. Gibbs would never . . . What did you do?"

She let out a sigh. "I struck a suspect in interrogation."

McGee let out a breath. "Oh."

Ziva continued. "It was stupid of me. I should not have allowed myself to be so affected by his words. And I do not need to be here, making you feel sorry for me." She rolled her eyes in annoyance with herself. "This is entirely my fault. If Gibbs fires me, I will pack up my things and return to Israel. There is no reason for me to defy his orders."

"You're not going anywhere, Ziva," McGee said defiantly, surprising her by taking her hands in his. She looked at him, her eyes wide. "Everyone makes mistakes, even Gibbs. We're not perfect. Look at all the stupid stuff I've done, yet I'm still on the team." Ziva lowered her eyes, smiling and shaking her head, watching as he rubbed his thumbs across her hands. When his thumbs stopped moving, she raised her eyes to see what was wrong.

"McGee?" she asked hesitantly.

"I'm just trying to get used to this," he said, releasing her hands and joining her on the bed. She turned to face him. "I'm not used to seeing you like this, Ziva, and while I can't say it's _nice_ to see you feeling this way, in a way . . ."

Ziva reached out and patted him on the leg. "I see what you are saying, McGee. I am trying to do as Ducky suggested and allow myself to show my emotions. But it will be difficult."

McGee nodded, reaching over and stroking her arm soothingly. "I'm glad you decided to come to me."

She smiled. "You have always been understanding and nothing but welcoming, McGee." She paused, her smile widening. "And you live the closest to me."

McGee rolled his eyes, but smiled, as Ziva's chuckle entered the room. As he focused his eyes on her again, he saw that she still looked downtrodden. He hesitated for a moment, then decided to just go for it. "Ziva, do you want a hug?"

She quickly looked up at him, surprised. "A hug?" He nodded. She looked away from him. "I-I am not much of a hugger . . ."

"I kinda thought that," he said. "I just thought I would . . ."

He was cut off by Ziva gently pressing herself against him, her arms around his shoulders. He recovered from his surprise to return the hug, closing his eyes and absentmindedly rubbing her back. He felt her relax further into his embrace and smiled to himself. It felt really good to have Ziva open up to him like this.

"It's gonna be okay, Ziva," he whispered into her ear, still rubbing her back.

Ziva let out a content sigh. "I do not know what I would do without you sometimes, McGee." She pulled away, watching the flicker of disappointment cross McGee's face from the lack of contact. She hesitated herself, then brought her hand up to his face, waiting for him to open his eyes. "Thank you," she whispered, then leaned in and gently kissed him on the lips.

The kiss was over as soon as it had begun, and McGee slowly opened his eyes, finding Ziva smiling at him. He felt the need to say something. "Um, you're welcome?"

A genuine laugh escaped Ziva's mouth. McGee blushed, but his embarrassment was soon replaced by disappointment again as Ziva stood. "I have taken up too much of your night, McGee. I should let you get some sleep." She began walking to the door, as McGee tried to process what was happening.

When he made a decision as to what he wanted to do, he stood and jogged after her. "Ziva, wait!" She turned to face him, her expression curious. "You don't . . . Don't feel like you've wasted my time, Ziva. You don't have to leave."

Ziva smiled. "Do you want me to spend the night with you?"

McGee's eyes widened at her word choice. "I, uh, well, not in _that_ way, Ziva. But if feel like you need someone . . . I'll sleep on the floor. You can have the bed."

"That is very sweet of you, McGee, but . . ." Ziva started, and McGee closed his eyes, knowing just what she would say next.

"Alright, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then," he interrupted, just wanting to get it over with. Ziva didn't speak right away, so he looked over to her.

"Do you not plan on looking at me until tomorrow, McGee?" she asked, smiling.

He gave her a look of confusion. "I thought you were leaving . . ."

She walked past him, back to the bedroom. "You should learn to not interrupt." He followed her and she turned around, causing him to reel back so as not to run into her. "And not to assume you know what I am thinking, either, McGee."

"Uh, I-I'm sorry, Ziva, I guess I just . . ." McGee stuttered, thrown offguard by her blunt attitude.

"I trust you are a gentleman, McGee," Ziva interrupted his blathering, fixing him with a look.

"Of course, Ziva," he breathed, regaining his pride.

She let out a breath, showing her hesitance. "You do not need to sleep on the floor."

"Oh, Ziva . . ." McGee started, assuming she felt sorry for him.

"We are adults, yes?" she continued. "Besides, I don't know about you, but I am not in the mood for sex, so we need not worry about that." She watched as McGee's face reddened, then continued, her next statement surprising McGee further. "I just need someone to hold me."

The blush dissipated from McGee's face upon hearing her words and he felt the overwhelming urge to hug her and never let go. He nodded, smiling. "I can do that." He walked toward her, causing her to turn as he approached, his arm slinking around her shoulder, and he led her back to the bedroom.

Ziva began unzipping her fleece, until McGee's voice halted her movements. "Uh, do you need something to sleep in?"

She paused. She had just planned on sleeping in her undershirt and panties, like she would have had she been at home, but she decided she wanted to play things a bit differently. "Yes, I think I do."

He smiled. "I'm sure any t-shirts I own would easily double as a nightshirt for you. They're in the top drawer." Ziva smiled and opened the drawer, browsing through the piles of neatly folded shirts. McGee noticed her actions and grinned. "We're just sleeping, Ziva. I don't care what you're wearing."

Ziva grabbed a shirt and held it to her chest, turning to face him. "Maybe I just wanted to snoot around."

McGee smiled at her mistake. "Snoop, Ziva. Come on, get changed."

She raised an eyebrow at him and began unzipping her shirt again, causing McGee to blush and face the other direction. "Ah, a true gentleman, just as I expected," Ziva murmured, stripping herself of her own clothes and putting on his shirt, closing her eyes and revelling in his smell on the shirt before announcing, "I am finished." She opened her eyes to find McGee gazing at her. She lowered her eyes. It was nice to feel wanted, and it had gotten her mind off everything with Gibbs. Her expression fell again as the thought crossed her mind.

"Hey, everything's gonna be fine," McGee soothed, seeing her expression change. "Tomorrow will come and Gibbs will realize how bad you feel about what you did. Don't worry."

She nodded, kneeling on the bed. "I will try not to." A yawn escaped her mouth and she quickly stifled it, excusing herself. "I must be more tired than I thought."

McGee smiled. "Let's go to sleep."

She returned the smile and crawled under the covers McGee held up for her, then waited for McGee to settle in behind her. She felt the other half of the bed jostle, signalling that he was in, but then the moving stopped. She rolled over, seeing that McGee was laying on his back, not making any attempt to scoot closer to her. "I do not bite, McGee," she assured him, then paused, grinning. "Hard."

He turned his head to face her. "I didn't want to invade your space . . ."

She silenced him by placing a finger on his lips. "What part of 'hold me' did you not understand, McGee?"

He nodded. "I get it."

She smiled, flipping over. "I fully expect . . ." she started, and gasped as almost automatically, McGee's arm snaked over her waist, pulling her into him.

"What were you saying?" he whispered into her ear, his warm breath travelling across her face.

"Nothing," she responded breathily.

"That's what I thought," McGee responded, tightening his hold on her waist. "Good night, Ziva."

She snuggled deeper into his embrace. "Good night, McGee."

…

Ziva woke, blinking the sleep from her eyes, and rolled over. Or, tried to roll over. Someone was hindering her movements. She began to panic until she remembered where she was – she had spent the night at McGee's apartment.

She turned her head to look at him and smiled. He was still asleep, mouth hanging open. She wrenched herself out of his grasp enough to turn so she was facing him and laid her head on the pillow again, simply watching him sleep. He was so good to her. She hated to think of Gibbs kicking her off the team. She knew she wouldn't find another group like the one she'd found at NCIS.

Ziva sighed and made a conscious mental decision to herself – she would do whatever it took to let Gibbs know she screwed up, but she wanted nothing more than to stay on the team. NCIS had become her life, and the team had become her family. She couldn't just lose them, as sentimental as that sounded. Her father would say her time in America had made her soft; he _did_ say that about her. But then again, he never seemed to understand the concept of family much, anyway.

The thought brought a chill down her spine and she inched closer to McGee, snuggling into him. No, she wasn't about to lose the team.

McGee stirred as a result of her movements and she hesitantly backed away, giving him some room. He let out a yawn and turned his head to face her. "Morning, Ziva." He blinked a few times, then noticed the distant look on her face and grew concerned. "You okay?"

She turned her head to face him. "What would you do to keep your place on the team?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I'm not sure what you mean."

She raised her head up on her hand. "How important is NCIS to you?"

He snorted. "NCIS is everything to me," he said softly. "You should know that." She didn't say anything, so he continued. "Ziva, you don't seriously think Gibbs would fire you . . ."

"What if I do?" she asked angrily. "I do not know what he is thinking! He probably finds me a liability to the team, someone who is angry and reckless, and would rather not have me around to screw up the integrity of NCIS."

"Ziva, would you listen to yourself?" McGee ordered, firmly yet softly. "You're blowing this all out of proportion. This is _Gibbs_. He's one of the angriest people I've met. And he's not going to give you up." He paused, steeling his gaze. "And even if he would, I won't let him."

Ziva's eyes softened. "McGee . . . You can't . . . I wouldn't let you risk your job . . ."

"Tony would do the same thing," he interrupted her. "And Abby. And I'm sure the Director wouldn't be too happy with Gibbs firing you, seeing as how she was the one who brought you to NCIS in the first place." He smiled. "You don't have anything to worry about, Ziva. We won't let you leave without a fight."

She returned the smile. "That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, McGee. I would hate to have to leave such a wonderful group of people."

"And we would hate it if you left us," McGee said. He reached over and brushed a strand of her hair from her face. "We better get to work before Gibbs really _does_ fire us."

Ziva let out a chuckle. "I'm sure Tony would just love our reason for being late."

McGee's hand paused on the covers. "And just what would you tell him?"

She grinned deviously. "Nothing that was not true, McGee. I spent the night here and then we lost track of time this morning."

McGee groaned, sitting up and sliding from the bed. He turned around once he was standing. "I really hope you're joking."

Ziva pouted. "You do not like the idea of Tony thinking we slept together?" She hid her smile behind the sheet.

McGee closed his eyes against the image. "I think it's better if we just go to work and stop talking about this."

Ziva's smile widened and she kneeled up on the bed, allowing the cover to fall down around her knees. "Am I making you feel uncomfortable, McGee?"

He tried to keep his eyes off her. The last thing he needed was a raging erection to start the morning. "Truthfully, Ziva, yes." She continued to smile wickedly, inching slowly towards him. He turned away, leaving her pouting again. "But only because you keep trying to change the subject and pretend you just came here for sex."

Her expression fell and was replaced by a blank look. "Ah, I see. I am feeling vulnerable so I have to do something to prove myself, like come here and seduce you."

"Ziva, no, that's not what I meant," McGee quickly said, spinning to face her. He sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I don't want you to just hide everything, cover everything up."

Ziva let out a bitter laugh. "Why not? Gibbs does, _Tony_ does, you probably even do." She fixed him with a look. "So why should I suddenly change how I live my life because you want me to?"

"Because we care about you, Ziva!" McGee cried out, wanting to get his point across. He lowered his voice and continued. "Can't you see that? We can't help you if you won't let us in." His eyes were desperate.

Ziva was silent for a moment, trying to take it all in. When she spoke, it was slow and deliberate. "I will tell you the same thing I told Ducky. I am not used to this. I am not used to opening up to people, having people care enough to want to know my emotions." She looked at him. "I can try. I cannot guarantee anything, but I can try."

"That's all I'm asking, Ziva," McGee replied, smiling.

Ziva returned the smile, then paused. "You are not going to ask me to hug you now, are you?"

He chuckled. "No. I'm not Abby. But," he blushed slightly, "I'd never pass up a hug from you, Ziva."

Ziva bit back her own smile, lowering her head. "That is very sweet, McGee."

"Yeah, yeah, um," he coughed a bit, "we should probably get ready for work, huh?"

"Yes, I will get dressed and see you there," she agreed. She picked her clothes from the floor and retreated to the bathroom to change, as McGee sat down on his bed, shaking his head.

"Never saw any of _this_ coming after than conversation with Tony, did ya, Tim?" he said to himself and smiled. "Crazy." He set out his clothes for the day and waited for Ziva to come back so he could go take a shower.

After a few minutes, he heard the lock unlatch from the bathroom door and stood to bid Ziva farewell. She walked into the room looking more perky than before and McGee wondered what had changed in that short time she was in the bathroom.

"Well, I guess I'll see you at work," he said awkwardly, for lack of a better thing to say.

"Yes, McGee," Ziva nodded her agreement. "I would like to thank you again for . . . being there. I needed someone and you did not disappoint."

He gave her a warm smile. "Anytime, Ziva."

She began to walk to the door, then turned at the last moment. "Tonight, after Gibbs assures me my job at NCIS is safe, you will be available?"

He gave her a confused look. "Uh, sure . . ."

"Good! I have plans for the two of us." She gave him a sneaky grin.

"Um, okay. That kind of worries me, but . . ."

He was cut off by Ziva's laugh. "Do not worry, McGee. I may not be like traditional women, but I know how to show a man a good time." She winked and headed out the door before McGee could respond.

McGee shook his head free of the conversation and turned back to his bedroom. He could ponder Ziva's plans once he was at work. Or, well, on his lunchbreak, sometime when Gibbs didn't have them working their asses off. Right now, he needed to shower and get to work on time, before Gibbs put out a BOLO on him.

Meanwhile, Ziva sped back to her own apartment, plotting out her evening in her head. She figured if she made plans to celebrate, the events of the day would go smoothly and she would still have her job at NCIS. She nodded to herself. Yes, that's how it would work out. And if not, well, she still had plans with McGee. It could be a last evening together before she went back to Israel.

She slammed her open hand on her steering wheel. She couldn't think that way. She had to go into work today with an open mind and hope that Gibbs was doing the same. Her future depended on it.

. . .

Ziva stepped off the elevator, bracing herself for the confrontation that could happen when she saw Gibbs' face. She made eye contact with McGee across the room and smiled, walking around the partition to her desk.

"Morning, Ziva," McGee greeted her, smiling.

She tipped her head at him. "Good morning to you, as well. I see you made it here before me."

He shrugged. "Apparently I shower faster than you." As soon as the words left his mouth, he paused, wondering if he should have said it.

Ziva chuckled, giving him his answer, as Tony watched the duo curiously. "You also did not have to drive back to your apartment, McGee."

McGee blushed as Tony turned his attention on him. "You two got anything you want to tell me?" he asked.

McGee allowed his blush to fade as he faced Tony. "A gentleman never tells," he quipped, smiling.

"No way!" Tony hissed. "You two did not . . ."

Ziva continued to chuckle, causing Tony to look at her in alarm. She sobered. "You would like to know what happened, yes, Tony?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah, _right_, you're gonna tell me if you two . . ." He made a motion with his hands, supposedly representing "had sex."

Ziva continued to stare at him. "We did not." McGee let out the breath he'd been holding and Ziva and Tony both looked at him. Ziva continued, still looking at McGee. "I needed someone to talk to. I went to McGee's apartment and . . ." She turned back to Tony, shrugging. "I spent the night. That is all."

"That's _all_?" Tony asked, eyes wide. "McGeek doesn't have a couch! How did you . . ."

"We slept in the same bed, Tony," McGee broke in. "We're adults and unlike you, I can sleep in the same bed with an attractive woman and not have sex with her."

Ziva tried to hide her pleasure at McGee's comment as Tony continued to flounder. "Well . . ." he started, then seemed to realize he was going nowhere and tried a different approach, turning to Ziva. "You gonna give the Probester some hassle about finding you 'attractive,' Zee-vah?" He waggled his eyebrows at her.

She gave him a sarcastic smile and then turned to McGee, changing her expression to one implying naughtiness. "No, I think it is quite sweet. And something I quite appreciate, given our plans for the evening."

Tony let out a loud guffaw. "Oh, okay, so now you two have 'plans' for the evening? This is getting ridiculous." He shook his head, which was suddenly slapped by a rough hand. Tony sat straight up in his chair. "Didn't see you coming, Boss."

Gibbs continued walking to his desk and sat down, placing his coffee next to his keyboard before speaking. "You know what's ridiculous, DiNozzo?" He looked over to Tony. "The fact that you're not working right now!"

"Right, Boss, on it," Tony said, turning back to his computer, but not before shooting dirty looks at both Ziva and McGee.

Ziva sat up and prepared herself to talk to Gibbs. She opened her mouth to speak, but never got the chance, as Gibbs spoke before she could.

"Officer David," he said calmly. Ziva's mouth clamped shut. "With me." Gibbs stood and walked away, toward the elevator, and Ziva jumped to her feet to follow him, leaving McGee and Tony watching curiously.

The duo entered the elevator and allowed the doors to close behind them before they reached over at the same time to flip off the power switch. Gibbs gave Ziva a curious look.

"Sorry, Gibbs," she said, pulling her hand back. "I just thought . . ."

He flipped the switch off in a quick motion. "Don't apologize, David."

She nodded. "Yes. Right."

He stood back, letting his hands drape loosely in front of him. "You know why you're here."

It was more of a statement than a question, and Ziva nodded again. "Yes. My behavior yesterday. It was . . . uncalled for and unprofessional. I let you down. And for that, I feel I _must_ apologize, whether you accept it or not." She stood tall, proud that she had gone through with the initial apology stage.

Gibbs remained staring straight ahead. "Ziva, has anyone ever accused you of being emotional?"

She gave him a confused look. "No, no, it is usually quite the opposite . . ."

He tipped his head to the side and back again. "Well, you proved everyone wrong."

Ziva narrowed her eyes, suddenly angry. "What? I have one outburst and suddenly I am too emotional? Have I not proven that I deserve to be on this team, that I would do anything to stay here? Or is that not enough? One mistake and I am finished, is that how it works?"

He finally turned to face her, his face unreadable. "Everyone is allowed to make mistakes." Ziva's eyes widened and he continued. "That's how we learn, Ziva. Truthfully, I would have been tempted to react the same way you did were I in your position."

"But I struck a suspect, Gibbs! You are not telling me I am getting off with a smack on the hand."

"No, you're not just getting off with a slap on the wrist, Ziva," Gibbs corrected, voice calm and steady.

"What then?" Ziva asked, exasperated at his calm approach to the situation. "You will have me scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush for a month? You will take my gun and resign me to my desk?"

"No," he responded simply. "You screw up again, you don't get a second chance. So I'm assuming you won't make the same mistake again?"

"Yes," Ziva responded, nodding fervently. "I mean, no, I will not make the same mistake again."

Gibbs faced the front of the elevator again and said, "Good. Because I would hate to have the Director pissed off at me."

Ziva gawked openly at him, then saw the hint of a smirk on his face and began laughing. Gibbs joined in softly, then as the laughter subsided, announced, "Anyone asks, I kicked your ass."

Ziva smiled. "I would not have anyone think otherwise. Boss."

Gibbs grinned and flipped the power switch back on and they resumed glowering expressions as the doors opened to the squadroom. They stalked out, going in opposite directions to their respective desks and sitting, not saying a word. Tony and McGee exchanged curious glances, mentally comparing notes as to what could have happened in the elevator. Suddenly, Gibbs stood, and Tony and McGee started to rise, but a quick glare from Gibbs stopped them.

"I'm going to get coffee," he growled, then stomped off.

"Whoa," Tony breathed as soon as the elevator doors closed behind Gibbs, then turned to Ziva, attempting nonchalance. "So, what's the verdict?"

Ziva shrugged, not looking up from her computer. "I got what I deserved."

Tony stared at her, looked at McGee, then they both stared at her. "And just what was that?" McGee asked, almost afraid of the answer.

She looked over her monitor at the pair. "I believe you would say, he kicked my ass." She nodded in approval of getting the phrase right and returned to her work.

Tony and McGee shared a worried look. "What do you mean, kicked your ass?" McGee asked. They began moving their chairs towards her desk.

She looked up in annoyance. "Just what I said!" she said. "He reprimanded me and said if I made the same mistake, I would no longer have a job with NCIS."

"But you're still on the team, right?" McGee asked. He and Tony momentarily stopped moving.

"Of course, McGee!" Ziva responded, as if the answer should have been obvious. "Did you really think Gibbs would fire me?"

He grinned at her, shaking his head. "The thought never crossed my mind, Ziva."

She returned the smile. "Just what I suspected." She paused, raising an eyebrow at him. "I do suppose this is cause for celebration."

McGee's grin widened. "I might say that myself. And to think, we have to wait all day, until we're done with work."

"Yeah, a real shame," Tony broke in. "So, where we going?"

Ziva turned her gaze to him, smiling devilishly. "I do not know where _you_ will be going, Tony." She looked back at McGee. "McGee and I will be at my home tonight." She continued to give McGee a devious look. "And I do not believe we want company."

"Oh, come on!" Tony exclaimed. "You've got to be . . . Gibbs is never going to . . ." He raised a finger. "You know what? I don't even care anymore. You two," he motioned back and forth between the duo, "will get what's coming to you."

"Like a big slap upside the head?" Gibbs' voice entered the room again.

"Yeah!" Tony exclaimed, nodding, then realized it was Gibbs and straightened himself. "I mean, getting back to work, Boss."

Gibbs shook his head, smirking, then sat at his desk. "And Ziva, McGee?"

"Yes, Boss," they replied simultaneously.

He focused his attention on his computer screen. "I wasn't joking about the headslap."

McGee and Ziva looked at each other with worried glances, as Tony leaned back in his chair, grinning, until he fell over, causing the others to grin as he scowled. Looked like things were back to normal.


End file.
